Papa was waiting on the street and helped Mamma Lucrezia from the carriage. Luna clambered down after her brother and sister, using her walking stick as support. The throng of parishioners was large and crowded through the doors with little order or gentility. As they entered, Papa tried to create some distance from the fray by stretching out his arms. Every corner was packed and the space beneath the magnificent domed arches felt as hot as the kitchen during baking. So many people standing close together made it smell sour too.

Luna followed her father to a space where they could stand. She let her eyes wander across the cobbled collection of strangers’ faces; some ladies’ heads framed by elegant silk hoods, others wearing simple kerchiefs. She saw men as familiar as the visitors her father welcomed, whilst others reminded her of the factory workers she’d known in her younger years. Close to the pulpit, she noticed the rows of chairs set aside for the most important parishioners. A friendly hum of chatter surrounded them as people moved through and greeted one another. Mamma Lucrezia clasped her hands in prayer and Papa did the same, leaning his head against his wife’s, and Luna was momentarily taken aback by their unusual display of intimacy. She turned the other way.

A tier of wooden stands framed each side of the pulpit, erected for the choir boys, but this day they were empty. The noise sank to a low whisper as the congregation settled. This was the time Luna enjoyed the most, just before Mass began, when the communal silence felt like a soothing blanket. She dropped her head and tried to clear her mind so that she might hear the grace of the Lord. Her laced-up boots stood out against the other ladies’ shoes. Then a sprinkling of light glittered on her arm. She looked up to where the sun’s beams shone through a pane of painted glass and was reminded of Giotto’s painting of St John Ascending. She accepted the warmth of the sun’s touch as a sign from the Lord that she was as welcome as any of the other ladies in church.

A gentle nudge to her waist made Luna turn. Maria pointed to a line of monks in the dark robes of the Dominican order moving slowly down the aisle, swinging their censers. The way they shuffled made Luna think they must be old and wearied but as they passed she saw smooth-skinned cheeks peeking from beneath their hoods. The incense floated a few moments around them, then disappeared into the air. Luna shifted her weight. A monk separated from the group and climbed the pulpit. He was small and gaunt, which surprised Luna, for she’d expected Friar Savonarola, so full of passion and fire, to be a big man.

At first he spoke calmly, in a loud voice, surveying his audience. His eyes flashed deep green beneath heavy black brows. Luna thought he sounded a little like her father. Spittle flew from his thick, fleshy lips and hit the faces of those standing closest to the pulpit.